A Rave in Transparency Falls

From Dispatches Sent Completely Out of Sequence

In many societies, a Rave is a huge, unauthorized, necessarily secret, wall-to-wall crush of X-fueled dancing, shouting and carrying on, with bowls full of Ruffies. Some are held in out-of-the-way places like unused tunnels or shuttered factories, but most are on TV. Finding out about a Rave in advance is nearly impossible if you are over 23 or think “sexting” is Latin for pretty much anything done in groups of six.

Indeed, almost everybody at such a Rave is about 20, except for the Big Security Guys (BSG’s) who may be as old as 25. The music is so loud that all intelligent conversation is checked at the door and the whump-whump-whump of the beat rivals the sound of California setting sail for Hawaii.

Beer kegs are tapped by guys who can not dance a lick and would otherwise be shunned. Buckets of bodily fluid, much of it beer-related, are lost and much fun is had by all and barely remembered the next day.

Well, in Transparency Falls, the Raves are almost a complete secret with a single invitation, the emailing of which is banned. Most attendees are older than 23 and do things in groups of six. Or maybe, it is five. The Raves are very small and they are called Privy Council Meetings. Privies and their favored advisors, called Crats, prefer to hold the Raves in sterile rooms, located as far as possible from Fallguy population centers, because that leaves lots of room for the empty chairs.

(Yes, there are plenty of what one might call Fallgals, but the Transparency Falls Some Equal Rights Amendment eliminated that term and forgot to replace it.)

Privy Council Meetings are not about ecstasy or music, but dancing aplenty is always heard if not seen. Some Crats have combined the skills of the keg-tap whilst dancing, an art referred to as... really neat.

Since crowds are not cheek to cheek, only a lone BSG is even on call. The only whump-whump-whumping is taken by Fallguys who are dumb enough to raise their hands. Probably just to go to the bathroom for a cigarette.

Anyone who leaves the Rave early, bathroom or no, usually misses the crescendo that defines the Rave. The Crats' special style of dancing, mentioned earlier, grows so intense as to become virtually impossible to follow.

Thank God for FallTube, the online site for hysterically funny Transparency Falls videos.

It may not sound like it, but at Transparency Falls Raves, much fun is had by almost all. And the intelligent conversation?

Come on. It’s called a Rave.

Supreme Court: A Cross is Almost Pagan

At the Supreme Court, that's what Tony ("That's-Why-The-Other-Guy's-Scaley") Kennedy basically wrote in his majority opinion.  The cross in question is in Middle of Nowhere, California, erected as part of a memorial to WWI's fallen.

The VFW put it up ages ago, when the US was still a Christian country. At the time, everyone knew what it meant and loved it, not that they ever saw the thing, it being in the Mojave Desert. You had as much chance of seeing that cross as a Wampanoag does a thousand wind turbines off Nantucket on a foggy day.

The cross is only a little taller than Megan Fox who you would miss completely if she were wearing flats...  Okay.  The cross is not even as high as, even if as inert as, Nichole Kidman's forehead.

The problem lay in its desert home being on public land, that is, land owned by The Government.  Now, had the land been owned by Arizona, we would not be talking about it at all, that state being beyond constitutional enforcement.

Some atheist federal judges from WhereElseButt, California, perhaps projecting their own guilt, said that, in the late, late afternoon, when the sun is low, you can make out a shadow that looks like Jesus' big toe way low down on the the cross.

(Oh, don't go planning a pilgrimage already! It's poetic license.)

The upshot is that the judges ordered the cross covered with Chinese Drywall, because no will use the boatloads of it sitting in Long Beach and, come on, like it can hurt Jesus.

It fell to the few remaining Christians in California to come up with a scheme to molify the judges.  The goverment would sell the hillock with the cross impaled on it to a non-government, maybe one of those free-speech loving corporation Justice Tony loves so much.  The rogue circuit judges were not fooled one bit and did everything but nail up the drywall themselves.

The Christians looked at the Supreme Court of the United States and liked their chances at 5 to 4.  A lot.

Justice Tony, perhaps with Scaley's whispering, figured it out.  The cross wasn't about Christianity at all.  The cross was Latin, the Roman culture before Sophia Loren.  This was the culture that crucified malcontents for kicks thirty  years before Christmas Day went wholesale; the culture that put Spartacus, Tony Curtis and so many of their slave army up on crosses they had to use Velcro.

The cross is an ancient, way-pre-Christian symbol evoking all the thousands of miniture pre-Christian crosses planted across Europe where Ameican soldiers were buried in presumably Latin ceremonies after de-empiring the Germans.  Those small Latin crosses were only used to define the uncountable rows and photograph really well.  Nobody's religion, or lack thereof, was involved.

And besides, Tony (the Justice not the Curtis) says, the cross would be someone's private property before anyone actually saw Jesus' shadowy if sacred big toe and built a church around it.

Back Taxes Take Front

Sorry.

...And Center.

It is late to be talking taxes.  We all cut three fingers and thumbs getting our taxes ready.  Except for those of you who did that e-filing bit to get your refunds quicker.

If you e-filed and had to have money pulled from you private Swiss accounts..., well, that's just sad.

This belated alert will not piss you off nearly as much as it would have on a downtown street at 11:55 PM April 15th, mid-way through Virginia's Gray History Month.

If you borrowed on your Discover Card, do not read further.  Seriously.

Pamela Anderson, presently starring on "Bouncing With the Stars", owes California half the depth of a breast tatoo under $500,000.

Oh, such feet of high-silicone-content clay.

Perhaps, Baywatch heroes and heroines are not what they used to be.  Or, did we overestimate them unfairly?

Who among us did not look up--but mostly down--to Pam, except, maybe, Tom Cruise.  In many ways, she was the perfect, well-made female star.  She delivered her lines in "Barb Wire", made us jiggle with fear in "Scary Movie 3"; and was the Invisible Girl in "Superhero Movie".  Sure she was.  She defined 3D before Jim Cameron could even pick that perfect shade of blue.

So, Pam?  Say it ain't so.

Of all states to short on your taxes, Pam.  It's run by a movie star with a better former body than yours.  California is going to have to lay off the Sequoia trees and use the land for marijuana farming...  Okay, that's taken, but still.

This cloud's silver under-wire is that Pam must have paid her Federal taxes.  Nobody is videoizing that claim on TMZ, so she must ponied up to Uncle O, who needs the cash more than Arnold does.  And that is saying a mouthful or two of unnaturally plentiful teeth.

Hmm.  This may be a chance for some guys who just augmented their collections with "Baywatch" and "Tommy Lee Gone Wild" on BluRay to  to give Pam and California some much needed support.

On the other hand, Pam now has a new revenue source for California to tap:  Pam's own milkshake!

Oh, please.  This about tax equity.